


from the donation box

by stardustland (prowlish)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Implied Relationships, Kissing, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, Slice of Life, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 19:36:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10860666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/stardustland
Summary: In which I collect the drabble/ficlet rewards for donations to my tip jar.





	1. Bluestreak & Ravage

**Author's Note:**

> this one goes to my dear friend Rem. I actually sent it way back around Thanksgiving but I just kept... forgetting to type it up... lol.

You weren't really supposed to daydream when on lookout, Bluestreak knew that. But he'd long gotten in trouble from Prowl and Blaster for tying up comm-lines with chit-chat. But without it, Bluestreak was just so  _bored_! Time went so slowly, perched on the mountainside above the  _Ark_ , with nothing happening and no one to talk to. Keeping his chronometer on felt like some form of torture.

 

His gaze drifted away from the approach to their base. Now Bluestreak studied the sky, evaluating the clouds and their shapes, and pondering the coming weather. Probably not rain, with as dry as the air was... but it was fun to imagine.

 

It was far too late to be attentive to his surroundings again when Bluestreak heard the twig snap to his side. He had no hope of righting his rifle, but he had his sidearm drawn... right as the "stalker" stepped into his view.

 

Ravage. 

 

That alone let Bluestreak know he would've been done for had the felinoid wished it. And Ravage was normally ruthless when it came to Autobots, so... what was she up to? 

 

"Cat got your tongue?" she said dryly, sitting primly at the edge of the little clearing.

 

Bluestreak snorted, relaxing his grip on his sidearm. "What are you doing?"

 

She tilted her helm. "What do you think?"

 

Bluestreak pursed his lips. "I know what your  _job_ is," he said. He kept his peripheral sensors dialed up, in case there was any sign of Soundwave. "That doesn't explain why you're stopping to chat."

 

Ravage shrugged -- a peculiar look on a quadruped. "I'm bored," she said. "Much like you and your inattentive gaze." 

 

The sniper sighed softly, but he slowly put away his sidearm. "This is what you do when you're bored?" he asked. "Sneak up on unsuspecting Autobots?"

 

Trotting a little closer, Ravage sat nearer to the mech. "Only those staring off into the depths of the sky." She paused. "Homesick?" she ventured.

 

Bluestreak shrugged. "Who isn't?" It was true... And besides, his home had been unilaterally leveled. He didn't want to talk about that with a Decepticon.

 

Ravage hummed but otherwise remained quiet. 

 

Bluestreak leaned back on his palms. "I was looking at the clouds.""

 

Ravage glanced at him, then peered up at the sky. "Any particular reason?"

 

"The humans like finding shapes in them."

 

The casseticon didn't seem very impressed by this, but she said nothing. It was... peaceful. And then: "That one looks like Laserbeak."

 

Bluestreak couldn't find that one, but he smiled anyway. That part didn't matter.


	2. Blaster/Jazz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for eerian_sadow. thanks again! hope you enjoy

Fireworks filled the skies. It was the dawn of a new year on Earth, but one thing Blaster found amusing about humans is that it took little provocation for them to send fireworks into the air.

 

Not that he complained. It was nice; bright patterns in the sky providing nice bursts of color over the whole scene.

 

A bonfire, some bots, some humans, and some good tunes. It was the simple things -- Blaster had always known that. Nearby, Eject and Rewind danced, under the watchful gaze of Steeljaw. He barely had time to relocate Ramhorn when a familiar hand clasped his own.

 

Blaster grinned, even as Jazz pulled him to some unoccupied space by the bonfire. “Not busy, are ya?” he asked, grinning. 

 

Blaster laughed. “Well, I am now,” he replied. 

“Mm, I like the sound of that.”

 

“Do you?” 

 

Mischief flashed from beneath Jazz’s visor. “Mmm-hm,” he murmured, but he left it at that. The dancing spoke for itself, fun and sensual, making Blaster feel like the fire near them had began burning in his core. 

 

The paused after a few songs, vents lightly panting, pleasant energy invigorating their circuits. 

 

“You wanna stay busy?” Jazz asked, that smirk playing on his lips again. Then he broke the gaze, looking significantly at the nearby overhang. Blaster looked up, peering through the flickering light of the flames and the fireworks. 

 

At first he wasn't sure what he was meant to see. And then… a dark but familiar form seemed to coalesce around a pair of bright red optics. 

 

Ravage.

 

He looked back at Jazz, anticipation and excitement -- the usual, and the kind that accompanied danger -- flaring in his tanks. “Lead the way,” he murmured. 

 

Jazz grinned, grabbing his hand again. “Always,” he murmured, trust and promise coloring his tone 


	3. Fort Max/Ambulon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for chibiVeneficus who has helped me out of many a tight spot. thank you so, so much. I hope you enjoy this fic ;v;/

The berths upon the Lost Light, for the most part, were of an average size. And that was fine; average was average for a reason and they suited most mechs. However, even an average berth got crowded with two average-sized mechs upon it.

When it was one average-size mech and one much-larger-than-average-size mech… it seemed an impossible task, even with the most suitable berth available. Fort Max was simply larger than life, at least from Ambulon’s vantage point. Scooted up close to his back, most of Ambulon’s primary and peripheral view was Max’s broad back. And very close behind him was the edge of the berth. He swore he could feel the ship’s artificial gravity tugging at him. 

But, at least, he thought, Fort Max seemed to be recharging peacefully. For once. Ambulon didn’t resent him his restless sleep and nightmares, of course. He couldn’t imagine what the mech had been through at Garrus-9; just the whispers were enough to fill him with dread.

A soft feeling touched his spark; if Fort Max got one good night of rest, that would be amazing. Ambulon smiled.

It faded off his face in surprise when Fort Max moved -- careful of him, of course -- and peered around. Ah. No wonder; it seemed he hadn’t fallen asleep in the first place.

He looked critically at Ambulon hugging the small sliver of space right close to the edge of the berth. “That can’t be comfortable,” Max said in a sleep rumble. Ambulon shrugged. Clearly Fort Max was still unsatisfied. “We can figure something else out.”

Now it was Ambulon’s turn to cast a critical look, though it was at the slab and its limited space. “How?” he asked. “There’s just as much lack of space if we turn around. It’s not so bad.” He picked at a patch of paint that had been peeling. “You should get some rest.”

While he wasn’t looking, Fort Max slipped his large arms around Ambulon’s frame and gently pulled him forward -- close against his chestplate. It was broad and sturdy and warm, the infrasonic sound of Max’s spark spinning and powering the EM field that enveloped him and his own a soothing frequency to his own spark.

Slowly, Fort Max laid back, Ambulon still laying this way upon him. “Is that okay?” he asked softly, one large hand brushing gently down Ambulon’s back plating.

Ambulon smiled into Fort Max’s chestplate, just out of his sight. “Yes,” he said sofly.

The pulse of contentment and satisfaction and sleepiness was enough that Ambulon’s joints relaxed and he sighed softly. Tranquility never lasted long in life, he knew that -- but just for the night, he would wear it like a blanket.

Neither of their slumbers were disturbed that night.


	4. Megatron/Rodimus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for robotlovesong13. thank you so much!

Rodimus crossed his arms as he glanced around the large room. Shelter was better than nothing, but it was a hollow relief with the knowledge of who lurked on the other side of the walls… and of who had set the devil on their scent.

 

He felt a gentle tug on his elbow – far too gentle, he felt, for the large hand. He almost expected Magnus, but no – it was Megatron. “What is it?” Rodimus asked.

 

Megatron gestured over his own shoulder. “I’d like to show you something.”

 

Rodimus sighed, but knowing Megatron normally had good reason for calling his attention to something was enough for him. Nevermind that getting out of the more public-feeling space would be a relief in itself.

 

He followed Megaton to what turned out to be just a side room. In fact, there seemed to be pretty much nothing in here but a broken berth sitting awkwardly in the corner and some obvious storage shelves. There seemed nothing _in_ here to show, and he was about to say so when he felt that large, gentle hand on his wrist again.

 

“Megatron, what – ?”

 

Without speaking, Megatron settled onto the broken berth for some cushioning, pulling him along. Settling into Megatron’s lap wasn’t exactly _unfamiliar_ , he was simply used to initiating it himself. Rodimus let out another sigh, though it was more content than irritated; he turned an inquisitive expression up at the mech.

 

“You looked like you needed a break,” Megatron said by way of explanation.

 

Rodimus arched an optic ridge. “And you’re feeling affectionate?”

 

Megatron snorted; he didn’t reply, but he traced his large fingertips over the different formations of Rodimus’ helm. Rodimus didn’t exactly feel like brushing him away, either. In fact it was nice – large hands on his plating, the warmth of his frame and the fuzz of their EM fields rolling together. He could half-shutter his optics and only focus on this, the slow trek of Megatron’s fingers over his helm and down his shoulders. That was probably the point, but considering what had just transpired…

 

He shuttered his optics with another sigh, leaning more of his weight against Megatron’s broad chestplate. “Not that I’m ungrateful,” he said, “but what inspired all of this.”

 

Megatron shrugged. He was silent for a long moment before replying, “I’m a bit used to one or more subordinates turning on me. I get the distinct impression you are not.”

 

Rodimus grunted. His thoughts flitted to a few dark places before he dredged himself out again and fully immersed in the quiet, warm comfort of Megatron’s embrace. “Yeah,” he muttered, muffled by the thick plating of Megatron’s chassis. “Thanks.”


	5. Prowl/Jazz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some humanformers au for vejiraziel! thank you so much ;u;/

Vision without sight was an impossible thing to put words to; Prowl had ceased trying centuries ago. The powers bestowed upon him allowed him to continue living and working amongst the human population largely undetected, which – for day to day life – is what mattered. The sound of Jazz’s heels on the floor, making a beeline for him at his desk, _didn’t_ require any preternatural senses to identify or discern… although he did pick up on the scent of her perfume from too far away for a normal” man.

 

He must have revealed it in some manner of body language, because Jazz laughed when she finally reached him. “Like it?” she asked, leaning against the inside of his desk.

 

“You could be more specific,” he replied.

 

Jazz snorted and crossed her arms – rolling her eyes, surely. “Didn’t think I’d need to, with the way you’re over here flaring your nostrils.”

 

Prowl hummed, rolling his now idle pen between his fingers. “I wondered if you had not liked it.” Or if he should have simply stayed with jewelry. It wasn’t as though Jazz seemed to tire of new pieces.

 

Jazz shook her head and plucked the pen out of Prowl’s hand. He let it go. The day was slow, and Jazz’s presence was much more pleasing. “Why would you think that?”

 

Prowl arched a brow, knowing that it showed over his dark glasses. “Typically you do not waste time in… displaying my gifts,” he said, demeanor nonchalant as he reached up to her neck. He gently rolled the pendant of her necklace in his fingertips. The uptick of Jazz’s pulse was quite audible to him – and well worth the gesture.

 

“Maybe I just needed to wait until the right time.”

 

Prowl lowered his hand, tilting his head as he peered up at her. “That seems rather arbitrary,” he remarked.

 

Jazz rolled her eyes again, but a fond smile curled the edges of her lips. “You’re in a mood today,” she teased, slipping her hand forward to his collar to fuss with his tie’s knot.

 

“Am I?”

 

Jazz hummed, hooking her fingers beneath the tie and tugging him close until they were nose to nose. “Yeah,” she murmured, smirking. “But that’s fine.”

 

Prowl was more interested in chasing the kiss than parsing Jazz’s flirtations, which could get downright cryptic at times. This close, the light floral scent of the perfume she’d sprayed on her neck and wrists was intoxicating mixed with her own natural bouquet. He had an arm around her waist before he’d given it much thought, and the warmth of her body that much closer to his own made the otherwise delicate, flirtatious kiss a bit more heated.

 

Eventually, Jazz broke away with a chuckle, though she remained close in his grasp. With the hand not occupied with his tie, she tugged the glasses off his face. “Much better,” she said.

 

“Did you have a point in coming over here?” Prowl asked. Not that he cared, clearly, considering he kept that arm looped around her waist.

 

Jazz smiled, carefully placing the glasses aside upon his desk. “Your 1 o’clock rescheduled for tomorrow,” she replied.

 

“Ah.” He gave her a knowing look when she turned back to hold his face in both hands. “And you have ideas on how to occupy that time slot.” It wasn’t a question.

 

Her smile broadened into a grin, fingertips playing with his hairline. “I have several.”

**Author's Note:**

> profile page @ https://prowlish.carrd.co/# c:


End file.
